


red string of fate

by montecarlos



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: Glancing around for a few seconds, he slowly walks in the direction of where his string is pulled towards, pushing his way through the crowds. Valentino Rossi, his hero, suddenly comes into view, standing in front of his motorhome signing a few autographs for fans. But the sight of Valentino isn’t what makes Marc’s stomach drop, it’s the thread - Marc’s thread - drifting up across the oily asphalt, ending in a knot on Valentino’s finger.Valentino Rossi is his soulmate.
Relationships: Jorge Lorenzo/Dani Pedrosa, Marc Marquez/Valentino Rossi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I know it's been a whilel but I've been so snowed under at work and I had a covid scare which thankfully came back negative. I have a week's holiday next week so I am hoping that I can be a bit more productive - this story is cut into two parts, I haven't finished the second part but I really wanted to post what I have and I feel like it's going to be a long one. I really love soulmate/soulmark fics and I haven't seen this concept in this fandom before and I really love it and I thought that it fit perfectly. Just a warning that this fic does reference Marco's death but i have tried to do this in the most respectful way possible. 
> 
> Thank you to D + L for cheerleading, and to you for reading.

_An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break,”_  
  
\-- Chinese Proverb  
  


* * *

  
Marc was always interested in the red string that was tied around his little finger since he really became aware of its existence. His mother told him that it had appeared within a few hours of his birth; she had the gift too, she could see the wonderful red threads of cord tying people together. Marc remembers tugging on her own thread, tied tightly around her finger, only to find his father stumble slightly outside in the garden. Their thread never wavered, it tangled sometimes but it always straightened itself back out - it was as resilient as their marriage. Marc’s thread always seems to move of its own accord and Marc always watches it with interest. it seems to have a similar pattern to himself - it’s up early in the morning, jumping around in various places before it settles down about a few hours after Marc is tucked into bed by his mother.  
  
When Alex is born, there is no red cord tied around his baby brother’s tiny fingers but when he looks at his mother with questioning eyes, she simply smiles and tells him that it means that his soulmate does not exist yet. Marc watches his baby brother like a hawk every single day for any sign of the thread but his finger remains bare until almost a year later, when it appears one summer evening when Alex is asleep in his cot. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight - he knows now that his brother will never be alone.  
  
The thought of meeting his soulmate is soon pushed to one side by his growing obsession with motorbikes. They’ve always been a big part of his life but his father finally relents and buys him a proper one for his fifth birthday. Marc remembers the massive smile that was pasted onto his face at the sight of the bike gleaming in the sunlight, he thanks his parents and clambers up onto the bike, the thread still hanging out from his finger. He’s instantly hooked by his new toy but his parents worry that he’s too small to handle the bike - but they feed him fruit shakes and eventually, he grows taller than the mark he placed down in pencil on the doorframe of the kitchen. He watches the races on television and only one rider begins to occupy his thoughts - Valentino Rossi. His father says that he should support the Spanish riders, but Marc likes Valentino the most - he rides as though the bike is part of him, and that is the way that Marc wants to ride too. His father begrudgingly buys him a Valentino Rossi poster from one of the markets near their town and Marc spends ages finding the right place in his and Alex’s shared room to display it. He looks at it every night before he goes to bed, his eyes flickering over the helmet, and the piercing blue eyes just barely visible through the visor, the red string is not visible in the photo and Marc wonders where it leads.  
  
The thread is further forgotten and it hangs loosely from his finger as he begins to compete in events every weekend - his father stands at the side, cheering him on, his thread jerking backwards and forwards, whilst his mother sits at his side, holding onto baby Alex, looking worried. He wins again and again and again - and the thread becomes another part of him that he barely notices as he holds the trophies aloft, the cheers ringing out in the air. The trophies end up on the shelf underneath Valentino’s poster and Marc looks at them and wonders if his hero would be proud.  
  


* * *

  
He’s fifteen when he realises that the red thread is stretching out in front of him, over to the other end of the paddock. It’s only his first race in the 125cc class and he’s nervous. This isn’t like the other events he’s been to before, this is the world stage.However, despite the bustle and the crowds, it feels like home - permeated by the smell of gasoline and the roar of motorcycle engines. Marc pulls his hand back and the thread goes taut at the action. Glancing around for a few seconds, he slowly walks in the direction of where his string is pulled towards, pushing his way through the crowds. Valentino Rossi, his hero, suddenly comes into view, standing in front of his motorhome signing a few autographs for fans. But the sight of Valentino isn’t what makes Marc’s stomach drop, it’s the thread - Marc’s thread - drifting up across the oily asphalt, ending in a knot on Valentino’s finger.  
  
Valentino Rossi is his _soulmate_.  
  
Marc finds himself moving closer and closer towards the Italian, his head slightly bent downwards as he signs autographs, thanking the fans quietly in Italian. Valentino looks up and Marc feels all the air leave his lungs at the sight of Valentino’s bright blue eyes glancing back at him.  
  
“Ciao,” Valentino says softly. “Would you like an autograph?”  
  
Marc nods, holding out the magazine that he had brought with him, rolled up in his back pocket. “My name is Marc, it’s my first race in 125cc and I want to race you myself one day,” He stammers out, watching the thread attached to his finger move as Valentino signs the photograph of himself.  
  
Valentino smiles at him and Marc feels something warm curl in his chest, his eyes flickering back down towards the thread - but Valentino doesn’t follow his gaze, he doesn’t look at his finger once. Marc’s heart sinks at the Italian’s indifference but it is to be expected - there’s few people that can actually see the threads that bind two people together. But there was a tiny part of him that hoped that Valentino would see the connection between them.  
  
“Thank you for the support, Marc,” Valentino says, cutting through his thoughts and he smiles widely as he accepts the magazine back. Their fingers brush against one another and Marc can feel the warmth of Valentino’s touch against his own, his heart jolting against his ribcage. His fingers close around the magazine as he nods once more, turning on his heel and walking away from the world champion, the thread trailing behind. 

“Mama? Are the threads ever wrong?” He asks his mother later that night, his eyes moving towards his own thread which is slack and relaxed at the moment. It’s been eating away at him ever since he had returned with Valentino’s autograph - the age difference alone makes him think otherwise.  
  
“Why do you ask, darling?” His mother replies, her brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
“I was just curious, that’s all,” He murmurs back, picking at the loop that will never come undone. “Isn’t there any time where the threads are wrong? What if you are connected to the wrong person?”  
  
“The fate thread is never wrong, mi corazon,” His mother says softly. “It will always show us our true love, whoever it may be,”  
  
She follows his gaze, her eyes burning into the thread, the smile on her lips is knowing.  
  


* * *

  
Marc tries to focus on his own fledgling career - he supposes that it is a blessing in disguise that Valentino is completely unaware of the bond between them. He wants people to know his name for what he does, not for being Valentino’s soulmate. His first season is difficult but the hard work finally pays off midway through when he clinches his first podium. He stands on the third step and clutches the trophy tightly to his chest, feeling the cheers of the crowd wash over him, but he wonders if Valentino watched the race, if he paid any attention to his success. His second season in the 125cc class is no different to the first. He adds another third place finish to his tally and his first pole position, but none of the victory that he craves. Marc can only watch as Valentino claims his sixth championship title, the thread on the end of his finger tightening as the Italian lifts his trophy into the air, the crowd screaming his name as loudly as Marc’s own heart.  
  
However, everything changes in his third season - he has a new ferocity, a new desire. He knows where he needs to be, he wants to be fighting alongside Valentino and Jorge and Dani and the only way he can do that is by proving himself in the lower categories. He takes his first win in Mugello under a sea of yellow and although Valentino is there to see it, hidden away in a hospital a few miles away, nothing can stop the smile from breaking out across his face. But he doesn’t stop there - spurred on by his success, Marc wins the next four races in succession and he knows that Valentino must be paying attention by now - after all, he’s equalled the Italian’s record. His luck runs out in the next two races and he drops to third in the standings but he fights back, despite an incident in Aragon at the first corner, collecting another four wins to hand him a seventeen point lead ahead of his nearest rival with one round to go. Marc digs deep in the final round - he wanted the win, but fourth is enough to hand him his first world title and he barely remembers crossing the line or the aftermath. He runs towards his team, screaming at the top of his lungs as they envelope him in cheers, the t-shirt that was premade is shoved into his shaking fingers. He has just enough time to pull it on before Alex launches himself at his big brother, the two of them melting against each other, the tears stinging at Marc’s eyes as he realises that he’s done it. He’s world champion.  
  
It’s only after all the celebrations are over and he’s back in the team motorhome that he notices that the thread around his little finger is pulled tighter than usual. Marc jolts at the knock that suddenly vibrates through the air but he pulls himself to his feet and opens the door, expecting to see someone else from the 125cc category there to greet him - but it isn’t. Valentino Rossi stands in the doorway, still dressed in his Yamaha leathers with a small smile on his lips.  
  
“Ciao,” He says lightly.  
  
Marc wants to reply, but he can’t bring himself to say anything.  
  
“I wanted to come and congratulate you personally,” Valentino continues, unperturbed by Marc’s silence. “You’ve had an incredible season and you are a worthy champion,” He stops, his tongue swiping over his lips. “And I hope that I will be racing you very soon,”  
  
“Thank you,” Marc murmurs back, his mouth dry. His eyes flicker down at Valentino’s finger, catching on the thread that is lying in a coil by his feet - their thread, he reminds himself. “Valentino, I-” He wants nothing more than to tell the Italian about their bond but he stops himself. It’s not time yet. Marc still needs to become his equal. “I’m sorry that you weren’t able to win the world championship,”  
  
Valentino nods imperceptibly. “There’s always next year,” He says with a wink.  
  
Marc can only watch in silence as the Italian walks away from him, the thread slowly moving away, the stark red moving against the asphalt like a coiled snake.  
  


* * *

  
Marc moves into Moto2 for the next year - and he’s one step closer to MotoGP and fighting alongside his heroes, and more specifically, alongside Valentino. Although he has a shaky start in the opening rounds, it’s to be expected as he is still adjusting to the bike - he claims his first win in France and from there, he only improves collecting a glut of wins and podiums until he reaches Malaysia. The dark clouds hang overhead as he crashes out on a damp patch of asphalt on the opening lap of the first practise session. Hitting the gravel, he feels the wind get knocked out of his chest as he stares up at the ominous black clouds that roll against the sky. Marc eventually manages to pull himself to his feet, but he’s dizzy. He is taken back to his pit box and Emilio comes over, an expression of worry in his eyes.  
  
Marc can only blurt out the words “Why are there two of you?” Marc blurts out and the worry on Emilio’s face only deepens. He stares down at the thread on his finger, his vision blurring again as he settles down into a chair, everyone around him erupting into frantic chaos.  
  
Things go from bad to worse as he fails his fitness test on the Sunday morning, having only completed two qualifying laps during qualifying and his vision is yet to correct itself. The doctors poke and prod at him and declare that he’s damaged something in his optic nerve and Marc bites down on his lip, grabbing hold of his mother’s hand as they talk with the doctors. His career might be over before it’s even started, they tell him - and his parents and Alex all break down in tears but Marc refuses to cry. He watches the MotoGP race later that afternoon and watches with horror through his blurred vision as the incident between Valentino, Marco and Colin takes place and a double red flag appears in front of his eyes. Forty minutes later, it’s announced that Marco has passed away and Marc can only stare at the television, his vision still blurred, but this time it’s not just from the injury, but from the tears that finally fall down his cheeks. The thread around his finger falls still for the longest time and Marc can feel his heart break.  
  
He loses the championship that year but he fights back the way he always has done, and he claims the title that he yearned for the next year after a fierce battle with Pol. Staring out over the fans that cheer with his vision that blurs not from injury, but from tears, he closes his eyes and feels the smile brush over his lips. He’s one step closer to MotoGP and to becoming Valentino’s equal. The only disappointment is that Jorge is the MotoGP champion and therefore, he’s the one in the annual class championship photo. Marc likes Jorge, but he’s cocky and so sure of himself. He doesn’t miss the green-hazel eyes falling on the red thread that remains tied around Marc’s finger and how it stretches taut in a long line towards the Ducati garage.  
  
“You can see them too,” Jorge says, the smile barely brushing over her lips.  
  
“I’ve been able to see them all my life,” He replies. He pulls on the thread connected to his finger.  
  
“Never found the person at the other end though?” Jorge asks, cocking his head slightly.  
  
“Never,” Marc lies. He finds himself glancing down at Jorge’s own thread and notices how it disappears off into the Honda garage, more specifically into Dani’s garage, his teammate for next year. “Guess you know who your soulmate is?” He murmurs back, his finger flickering to the thread.  
  
The smile drops away from Jorge’s face. “He doesn’t know, and he probably never will know,”  
  
“You should tell him,” Marc says softly.  
  
Jorge snorts. “I think he would rather be with anyone else but me,”  
  
Marc decides not to press the issue - the relationship between Dani and Jorge has always been fraught and full of issues but never hatred. He knows that Dani doesn’t truly hate Jorge, and it’s even more evident when he finally becomes teammates with the shorter Spaniard. Dani is always someone that Marc has looked up since he was a child, both on the track and off it. He’s exactly the same, calming influence as he presents to the cameras and he helps Marc with developing his style to the much more powerful MotoGP bike. However, there are times that Marc’s attention is drawn towards the Yamaha garages during testing, to where his thread disappears around the corner to where Valentino is presumably seated, preparing himself to get on his bike. But Dani’s eyes sometimes follow his own, but not towards Valentino’s side of the garage but Jorge’s and he wonders.  
  


* * *

  
“Congratulations, babychamp,” Valentino murmurs out, clapping him on the back, his face illuminated by the floodlights in the Qatar desert.  
  
Marc can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face at Valentino’s words. He wants nothing more than to throw himself at the Italian but he meets Jorge’s hazel-green eyes over Valentino’s shoulder and the smirk on the Majorcan’s face makes him stop, so he just accepts the congratulations and tries not to think about the thread that curls down between them, the stark red coiled by their feet against the oil-stained floor.  
  
He stands on the podium whilst the cheers from his team and his family echo out into the desert, his father’s delighted face reflects against the floodlights but his mother’s eyes catch on the thread that trails along the floor towards Valentino who is standing on the other side of the podium and he sees the fear in her eyes at the sight. But she says nothing to him, only collects him into a tight hug and tells him that she’s proud of him no matter what.  
  
Valentino isn’t on the podium for his first win, Jorge pipping him to the post for the final podium position - but thankfully, Dani is there to congratulate him. He collects the smaller man in his arms, ignoring the glare he gets from Jorge at the contact. His eyes are drawn towards Dani’s little finger and the thick red cord that is tied around it leading across parc ferme to where Jorge is watching them carefully.  
  
The atmosphere between Dani and Jorge only gets worse in the next few rounds, and Marc finds himself drawn into the battle between the two older men. He tries not to get involved within their issues, but it’s difficult. Dani is his teammate after all, and he feels a sense of solidarity with the shorter Spaniard but Jorge can see the same threads that bind them to the person they’re intended for. They claim victories from one another until Assen when Jorge ends up in the gravel and the thread between him and Dani twists in a way that Marc has never seen before. Valentino ends up winning the race with Marc in second, and this time, Valentino pulls him into a warm hug. It’s brief but it’s everything that Marc needs.  
  


* * *

  
Jorge and Dani are both absent from Germany due to injuries, but when they return to America, they seem to be different. Dani is grinning from ear to ear and Marc can’t figure it out at first, until he notices that Jorge is wearing a similar grin and he _knows_ . Jorge corners him after the press conference, pulling him into a darkened corner away from prying ears and eyes.  
  
“I told him,” Jorge says quietly, his eyes locking on the younger Spaniard’s.  
  
Marc feels the smile brush across his lips. “What made you change your mind?”  
  
“My accident,” Jorge admits. “I was lying in the gravel and I was in so much pain, but I looked down at the thread on my finger, watched it still for a bit and I realised that I didn’t care about the race or the championship or any of it, I only thought about him-” He pauses to wet his dry lips. “So after everything was over, I went to his motorhome and I told him everything, he deserved to know,”  
  
“I assume that he took it well?”  
  
Jorge smirks. “You know what Dani is like - at first, he was sceptical about it but I told him that I was tired of pretending that there was nothing between us, so I yanked on the string and he fell right into my lap and-”  
  
“I don’t want to hear the rest of the story,” Marc cuts in, feeling his cheeks turn red at the mere thought of Jorge and Dani doing _things_ together.  
  
Jorge rolls his eyes. “You should. I’d be happy to give you tips when you tell Valentino,”  
  
“How did you- no, no,” Marc shakes his head furiously. “No, I’m not going to tell Valentino,”  
  
“Tell me what?” Marc stiffens at the familiar Italian voice that cuts in behind them.


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino and Marc become closer, but as they do, they face more problems regarding the status of their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, it's been a while and this fic has really been kicking my ass over the last few days but I wanted to get the next part done. It was my intention that it would be two parts but as always, the story has taken on a mind of its own so the next one could be the last one or it could have another one. This chapter really fought me and I've struggled with if it's good enough but I wanted to get some writing out there. 
> 
> Thank you to the usual suspects for their help, and to you for reading.

_“How did you- no, no,” Marc shakes his head furiously. “No, I’m not going to tell Valentino,”_   
  
_“Tell me what?” Marc stiffens at the familiar Italian voice that cuts in behind them._

* * *

  
“Nothing, nothing,” Marc blurts out, trying to ignore the blush he can feel currently staining his cheeks.    
  
Valentino raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”   
  
Marc nods a little too quickly, his mouth dry. “Y-yeah, yeah I am,” He can feel Jorge’s hazel eyes on him, burning into him presumably glancing more carefully at the thread that ties them together. “I think Emilio is calling me,” He murmurs out, scuttling away in the direction of his garage.    
  
He can feel Valentino and Jorge’s stares on his back as he leaves, but he keeps moving forward, trying to ignore the thread that trails by his side. It’s not the right time yet, and he knows it. But there’s a tiny part of him that wonders if he will ever tell the older Italian, if he will ever want to disturb the dynamic that exists between them. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Emilio pulling him to one side to ask him about race setup and the thread is again forgotten.   
  
However, it soon resurfaces after he wins the race and Valentino joins him on the podium. The Italian beams widely at him and tugs him closer and Marc breathes in the scent that is Valentino - of sweat and motor oil and something else that is lost in the heat of the moment. Marc almost turns to Valentino right there and declares the truth, caught up in the post-race adrenaline. However, thankfully, Dani intervenes by slapping his teammate on the shoulder with a wide grin and congratulations and Marc realises that it probably wasn’t the right time. He breathes a sigh of relief. 

Over the next four races, Marc shares the podium with Dani and Jorge, and although it’s not directly apparent to anyone outside of their bubble, Marc can see the pull between the two of them, the thread lays between the podiums, finally untangled and smooth. He glances down at his own finger during the national anthem and he yearns for what Dani and Jorge have, to be able to be with the person that he loves - but as he draws closer to the goal of his first MotoGP championship and to finally be equal on terms with Valentino, the thought of Valentino knowing about the bond between them fills him with fear.    
  


* * *

  
Marc is sandwiched between Valentino and Jorge in Aragon, another win to his tally and his lead extended - but it’s a bittersweet feeling. He’s the reason that Dani has had to retire and he can feel Jorge glowering at him from his right-hand side, the hazel eyes darker than usual. He tries to ignore it as Valentino pulls him closer, his hand folding around his shoulder. Marc can feel the heat of Valentino’s skin, even through the thick leathers, and tries to push away the flutters in his lower stomach, the flush on his cheeks can thankfully be put down to the heat and exertion post-race. It’s thankful to retire back to his motorhome after all the celebrations and the press duties are over, falling heavily against the couch, his arm moving to cover his eyes and hopefully dispel the headache that is beginning to spread across his temples. However, the silence that hangs over his motorhome is soon shattered by a knock at the door. Marc sighs heavily. It’s probably Dani, he reasons, his teammate presumably wants to discuss what happened in the race a few hours prior. He’s surprised to see Valentino standing on the other side of the door, dressed in a soft grey hoodie. Though it’s not strange to see riders out of their leathers or their team gear, the sight of Valentino in something so plain, not covered in yellow or his usual 46 is jarring to Marc. 

“Ciao,” Valentino says lightly. “Can I come in?”   
  
Marc opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out so he nods silently and steps to one side, allowing the nine-time champion into his motorhome. Valentino glances around wordlessly presumably taking in the mess of Marc’s motorhome - his boots haphazardly discarded in a pile to the left of the couch, his team t-shirt thrown over one of the arms of the sofa. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Marc finds himself blurting out. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors-”   
  
Valentino laughs, holding up his hand, the thread between them pulling taut and Marc has to stop himself from face planting on the floor in front of the older man. “It’s okay, I’m sorry to disturb you, I just wanted to check that you were okay,”   
  
“Yeah,” Marc feels his mouth drop open. “Yeah, why?”    
  
Valentino cocks his head slightly. “Marc, you don’t have to pretend with me, I know that you look up to Dani,”   
  
“Yeah, well it is what it is,” Marc says, biting down on his lip. “Do you want a coffee or something?” He picks up the kettle and moves over to the kitchen to begin to fill it, but Valentino moves forward, catching his hand.   
  
“Marc-” He says quietly, his hand unmoving from Marc’s. “It’s okay to be upset at the situation, nobody is going to judge you for it,”   
  
“I know,” Marc murmurs softly. “I’m used to people hating me,”   
  
“Marc,” Valentino tugs the Spaniard closer, his blue eyes burning into dark brown ones. “Dani doesn’t hate you, I can promise you that,”   
  
Marc opens his mouth to argue but Valentino shakes his head. “He doesn’t hate you, it’s not in Dani’s nature to hate anyone and certainly not someone who made a mistake,”

The silence grows between them for a moment, Marc’s heart feels like it’s about to punch its way out of his chest. Valentino’s gaze pierces into Marc’s as he leans closer, his tongue brushing against his lips as though to wet them, his thumb stroking against Marc’s wrist - before another knock sounds out. Valentino stiffens at the noise and draws back, the slightest shred of panic filling his eyes.    
  
“Marc? Are you there?” Dani’s voice calls out and Marc doesn’t know whether to be thankful for his teammate’s presence or scream. He barely notices Valentino’s attempts at an excuse as to why he is leaving, placating Dani with the same story as he opens the door and leaves, the thread stretching out into a long coil as it disappears.    
  
“Marc, are you okay?” Dani’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he nods wordlessly, replaying what just happened.    
  
Did Valentino want to kiss him? Would they have kissed had they not been interrupted? He barely hears Dani over the buzz of his own thoughts, he had almost  _ kissed Valentino Rossi,  _ his teammate’s words melting into each other.  _   
_ _   
_ Marc gets disqualified from the Australian Grand Prix for a pit lane infringement and his lead in the championship is suddenly reduced, Jorge capitalises on his failures and the realisation that he could lose this championship suddenly becomes a very feasible reality. He tries to pretend that his thoughts don’t automatically drift back towards Valentino, towards striking blue eyes, warm hands - and there are times that he catches himself staring at the thread that hangs from his finger and he wishes that he couldn’t see it.   
  


* * *

  
He wins the championship at the final round in Valencia and becomes the youngest champion in history. Marc barely remembers crossing the line, the roar of the crowd washing over him as someone hands him a Spanish flag. Everything after that moment is a blur, not helped by the tears that are falling down his cheeks, as he holds the Spanish flag aloft and takes in the atmosphere around him. Alex is one of the first people he seeks out when he finally makes it back to parc ferme, his brother’s strong scent grounding him as the world spins around him.    
  
“You did it,” Alex whispers, his voice barely audible over the screams of the team.    
  
Marc closes his eyes and nods silently. His brother is right, he’s done it. He’s world champion. He’s finally an equal to Valentino, a thought that both thrills him but fills him with dread. He no longer has a reason to keep his tie to Valentino hidden any longer.    
  
He’s not sure what hour it is when he finally staggers back to his motorhome, still drunk on the champagne that he’s been drinking and on the high of his own success. It’s dark, the sun having sunk beneath the horizon several hours prior, and he can still feel the ringing in his ears as he slumps against the door to catch his breath for a moment.    
  
“Marc?”   
  
He stiffens at the familiar Italian accent that curls through the thick air and turns around to see Valentino standing behind him. The older man is dressed in another plain hoodie, this one is dark navy, his earring glinting under the floodlights, the thread between them lays in a pile by his feet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, I just wanted to congratulate you properly,”   
  
“Thank you,” Marc murmurs softly, unable to stop the smile from brushing against his lips. “It means a lot to hear that from you,”   
  
“I still remember the day that a fifteen year old kid came up to me in Barcelona and told me that one day he would be racing against me, and back then I never thought it would happen - but here you are,” Valentino pauses. “You did an amazing job and you’re a worthy champion,”   
  
“You were the one who got me here,” Marc blurts out. “In a way, obviously, I did the work myself but I’ve admired you since I was young and I wanted to be just like you-”   
  
“And now you are,” Valentino smiles. “I have to be honest though, is not the only reason that I came to see you,” He shifts slightly as though he’s nervous. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened in Aragon,”   
  
“I know it was just a mistake-” Marc finds himself blurting out, his cheeks colouring pink.    
  
Valentino shakes his head. “I wanted to kiss you that night,”   
  
Marc can feel his mouth drop open. “What?”   
  
“I wanted to kiss you that night,” Valentino repeats the words again. “I don’t know why, it just felt like the right thing to do?”   
  
“Then do it,” Marc whispers. “Kiss me right now,”   
  
“Are you sure?” Valentino’s bright blue eyes widen a fraction. 

Marc nods once. “Kiss me,”   
  
Valentino leans in again, his hands curling around Marc’s upper biceps and he can feel the thread on Valentino’s finger cut into his skin but none of that matters as Valentino’s lips meet his own. They’re slightly chapped and cold but Marc can only focus on how they feel against his own, Valentino’s hand moving up to cup at his neck, his fingers brushing against the hair at the nape of his neck as they give into what they are supposed to be.   
  
“So what now?” Marc asks as Valentino pulls away, his lips still tingling from the Italian’s touch.    
  
“Well, I was hoping that we could kiss again,” Valentino flashes him a wide smile and Marc can’t help but melt at the words, and against Valentino’s lips as they press against his own again.    
  


* * *

  
Marc starts his second season in MotoGP as defending champion, squeezed into the narrow bed in Valentino’s motorhome. They had spent the winter break apart from one another, but Valentino had tugged Marc to one side after the press conference was over, his fingers curling around the younger man’s bicep. They had ended up back at Valentino's motorhome, Marc’s back pressed against the door as the Italian bruised his sensitive skin with his lips, forcing his name to pull from between the Spaniard’s mouth.    
  
“Missed you,” Valentino murmurs against his neck, his tongue and teeth scraping against the light golden skin. “Thought about you all winter,”

“Me too,” Marc bites out, glancing up at the older man - his lips swollen and his eyes almost dark navy with desire. “Thought about you fucking me,”   
  
Valentino cocks his head to one side, the smile curling over his lips. “Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah,” Marc nods slowly. “I’ve never done this before but-”

“Don’t worry,” Valentino murmurs, holding out a hand. “I’ll take care of you,”   
  
And he does - Valentino is soft and sweet and Marc falls apart underneath him, his fingers fisting into the rumpled bedsheets, the thread between them tightening with every thrust of their bodies together. Valentino collapses next to him afterward, his arms curling around Marc to tug the Spaniard against his chest. Marc slowly strokes his fingers up and down Valentino’s biceps, taking in the sensation of being curled up in his hold.    
  
“That was amazing,” He says softly, breaking the comfortable silence between them.    
  
Valentino laughs lightly against his back. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to do it with you,”   
  
Marc continues to trace circles around Valentino’s wrist, his gaze suddenly drawn to the thread around Valentino’s finger. “Vale-” He begins, twisting his head slightly to glance around at the older man.    
  
“Yeah?” Valentino says, his voice syrup soft.    
  
Marc wants nothing more than to tell him the truth in that moment, that they are connected - but the words die on his lips. “I’m glad you’re here,”   
  
Valentino’s mouth flickers into a smile that Marc is certain is reserved only for him. “I’m glad too,” He says, leaning in for a gentle kiss, his hand moving to cup Marc’s cheek. He feels the sting of the unmoving thread against his skin, as though it’s taunting him. 

* * *

  
Marc wins the first race under the spotlights in Qatar - but this win is different. He never tires of the sensation of winning, the roar of the crowd sinking over him, the cheers from the members of his team echo through the air as he staggers over, exhausted from his battle with Valentino. He pulls the zip of his leathers down slightly, pushing a hand through his hair as he collects himself. It feels eerily similar to the podium he had collected last year but this time he is the defending champion and he is finally battling against his hero, against the man he will probably sleep with tonight.   
  
“Congratulations, babychamp,” Valentino murmurs against Marc’s ear as he collects him in a warm hug. “Come to my motorhome tonight,” He whispers, his voice masked by the camera flashes going off around them. The Italian’s hand lingers for a fraction too long on Marc’s back, but nobody notices, except for one pair of dark brown eyes in the crowd.    
  
It’s more difficult to slip away to Valentino’s motorhome unnoticed after the celebrations and the press duties are over. His team is determined to celebrate well into the night and the paddock is still full of people - but after an hour or two, it quietens down. Marc pulls on a plain hoodie, pushing the hood up over his hair before he leaves his bedroom as quietly as possible to not disturb Alex who is asleep in the next room.    
  
“Where are you going?” The familiar voice shatters the silence and Marc stiffens, whipping around to see Alex sitting on the couch, dressed in his pyjamas.    
  
“I-I couldn’t sleep so I was going to go for a walk,” Marc murmurs out. “What are you still doing up?”   
  
Alex sighs heavily and pulls himself off the couch. “Marc, don’t lie to me, I know you’re not going out for a walk at this hour, I saw you and Valentino in parc ferme, I’m not stupid,”   
  
“Alex, it’s not-”   
  
“Marc,” Alex cuts his big brother off. “I know you, and I know what you’ve been doing. It might not be obvious to anyone else, but it’s obvious to me, you light up when you’re around him. I just worry that he will hurt you,”   
  
“He won’t hurt me, he’s my soulmate,” Marc replies quietly. “We’re connected,”   
  
Alex’s eyes flicker down to Marc’s little finger - though he has not inherited their mother’s gift of seeing the threads that bind them together, he knows all about it. “Does he know about it?”   
  
Marc shakes his head. “No, I haven’t told him,”   
  
“Why not?”   
  
Marc can’t bring himself to answer his brother’s question, though there’s a tiny thought in the back of his head that wants to admit the truth - that he’s too scared to tell Valentino the truth. He doesn’t want to change the thing between them - to admit to Valentino that they are meant to be together would only drive the Italian away, he’s certain of that.    
  
Alex just breathes out a heavy sigh. “Just go and see him, okay?”   
  


* * *

  
“You’re quiet tonight,” Valentino’s voice is soft and worn.    
  
They’re curled up together between the rumpled sheets in Valentino’s bed - this one is slightly bigger as though he had been anticipating Marc’s presence this season. Their naked bodies are pressed against one another, Valentino’s chest pulled up against Marc’s back, his fingers tracing over Marc’s bicep. “Is everything okay?”   
  
“Alex knows about us,” Marc feels Valentino stiffen behind him. “It’s okay,” He twists his head slightly to glance at the older man. “He won’t say anything to anyone, I’m surprised that it’s taken him this long to catch on,”   
  
Valentino relaxes at Marc’s words. “Well, people always say that you two know everything about each other,”    
  
“Are you okay with it? With Alex knowing about us?”   
  
“It’s just sex,” Valentino says with a smile. “It’s nothing serious between us right? It’s such a release for both of us,”   
  
Marc feels his heart shatter at the older man’s words, but he pastes on a convincing smile of his own. “Yeah, it’s just sex,”    
  
Valentino kisses him again, his hands cupping at Marc’s face - and Marc finds himself getting lost in the Italian. It’s just sex to Valentino, but it’s much more than that to Marc. He knows that he’s fallen in love with Valentino, that they’re meant to be, but he remains silent and allows the older man to kiss him and to touch his body, he will take whatever Valentino gives him.    
  


* * *

  
The thing between them - Marc still refuses to label it as fuck buddies or friends with benefits or anything of that sort - continues throughout the season as Marc claims a new record, winning the first ten races in succession one after the other. Valentino takes him to bed after every race is over, sometimes it’s soft and slow, Valentino drawing out his orgasm slowly as he marvels at Marc falling apart underneath him and sometimes it’s hard and rough and Valentino’s teeth scrape against his neck as he calls out the older Italian’s name into the silence. Marc watches the thread between them every time - sometimes it’s smooth and untangled and other times he doesn’t know when the thin red cord will unknot itself, but it always does.   
  
Their relationship grows stronger off track and on it - and it begins to show in the public eye. They’re nothing like the rivalries that have come before them, fierce and full of hatred, theirs is based on mutual respect and friendship and Marc knows that the press hates it. They want to push their own agenda of two rivals that hate each other - the Spaniard and the Italian at odds, the experienced master and the young gun - but they hold firm against all the attempts to force them into a battle off the track. But it begins to take its toll and he crashes during his battle with Valentino at Misano. He hits the gravel, and although the scrapes to his body hurt, the reality hits him - that being equals with Valentino doesn’t just include the congratulations and the attention from the older man, it also involves the ugly realisation that on track, Valentino will sweep him aside for glory, their relationship forgotten - and that  _ hurts _ .    
  
“I’m sorry about your crash,” Valentino whispers against his skin later that night, and though the words are soft, they do nothing to dull the pain in his heart.  
  


* * *

  
Valentino invites him to the ranch after the disaster that is Aragon and Marc doesn’t know what to think about it. He’s excited of course - he’s heard so many stories about it and it’s considered a privilege to just be invited - but the situation sends his brain into overdrive. Valentino has always kept him at arm's length, their meetings are usually on race weekends - but he’s actively wanting to see Marc off the track in his own home. He accepts the invitation regardless, ignoring Alex’s worried glances and his mother’s knowing smile. It’s exactly how he imagined, a motorcycle rider’s paradise, acres and acres of dirt-track stretching out in front of him and he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. Valentino has even managed to acquire him a bike with his own 93 stencilled on the front, which makes his heart skip a beat.    
  
Marc thought that Valentino would keep him at arm’s length throughout the trip - after all, his Academy kids are here too as well as a handful of other riders, but Valentino doesn’t seem to care about anyone else’s opinion. He pulls Marc close when he’s explaining how to hit the apex on a particular corner perfectly, his head bent close enough that Marc could kiss him if he were brave enough. Everyone notices the closeness between them but nobody chooses to comment on it - even when Valentino pulls him close for the photograph and later on when he tugs Marc towards his own bedroom.    
  
They fuck again that night, and as Valentino draws the orgasm from him, his fingers gripping into Valentino’s shoulder, he finds himself falling.    
  
“I love you,” He murmurs out, stiffening as he realises what he’s just done.    
  
Valentino remains silent as he pulls away from Marc and disappears from the room, leaving the room, the thread trailing away with him. Marc watches it go with a heavy heart.    
  
He’s fucked up.    
  


* * *

  
  
Things change between them after that - Valentino still pastes on his best fake smile of congratulations when the cameras are on them during parc ferme, but Marc knows that it’s all a facade. Valentino holds him at arm’s length and Marc can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt him, for the older man to feel like nothing more than a stranger to him. Marc wins the championship in Japan with three rounds to go, and although he should feel elated that he’s successfully defended his title, there’s a part of him that feels like something is missing. Valentino joins him on the podium, the same false smile pasted on his face as he pulls Marc in close for the photographs. Marc smiles as the flashes go off, trying to pretend that the thing between them is nothing but a warm and friendly friendship off-track. However, as they pull apart and leave the podium, the tug on his finger reminds him that it is definitely not the case. 

The celebrations go by in somewhat of a blur to him, his thoughts lost in a chorus of cheers and shouted Spanish, fistbumps, hugs and champagne. It’s his mother that corners him later in his motorhome, long after the celebrations have begun to die down, the sun slowly sinking down over the horizon.    
  
“You haven’t been yourself the last few weeks,” She says quietly. “At first, I thought it was the stress of the championship but today was a day to celebrate and there was something else on your mind,”   
  
Marc bites his lip, his eyes moving down to glance at the thread around his finger. “Do you ever feel like being able to see the threads is a curse and not a blessing?”    
  
His mother follows her gaze downwards, her dark eyes falling on the thread stretching out in front of him. “Love isn’t just about finding the person who is on the end of your thread, darling,” She says quietly. “It’s more than that - it’s about how they make you feel, you don’t need a thread to tell you that,”   
  
“I know, but what if the other person doesn’t feel the same way?” Marc picks at the loop but the thread holds steadfast against his skin.    
  
“If two people are connected and supposed to be together, they will always find their way back to one another,”   
  
Marc groans. “How can you be so sure?”   
  
“Because they’re supposed to be together, mi corazon,” She whispers, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his cheek before she leaves, the door slowly closing behind her. Marc sits in silence for what feels like hours, his head falling back against the couch as he tries to calm his racing thoughts. If he and Valentino are supposed to be together, why does the older man want nothing to do with him? Why did he run away as soon as Marc admitted his love?    
  
Another knock sounds out through the silence and Marc drags himself to his feet reluctantly. “Alex, I told you that I didn’t want to come out-” He begins as he pulls open the door, only to stop mid-sentence.    
  
Valentino stands in the doorway, illuminated by the paddock lighting in such a way that it takes Marc’s breath away. “Ciao,” He says softly. “Can I come in?”    



	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2015 beckons, and with it, come new challenges - until Sepang when everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter literally kicked my ass for an entire day - I was wrestling with how best to finish this story, my intention was to have it go really fucking sad but sad endings just aren't my bag and though this is unrealistic, this is the way I am happiest with ending this story. This one has been a difficult one but I am happy to have it finished. It's been a journey and a half this time. I've tried to keep as close to the source material here, but I had to use some time jumps to get to the end result. 
> 
> Thank you to D and L for their support and for kicking my ass with this, and to you for reading.

_Valentino stands in the doorway, illuminated by the paddock lighting in such a way that it takes Marc’s breath away. “Ciao,” He says softly. “Can I come in?”  
_  


* * *

  
Marc knows that he should say no, that he shouldn’t allow Valentino back into his heart but he glances down at the thread around the Italian’s finger and thinks about his mother's words. He silently stands to one side, allowing the nine-time champion into his motorhome.    
  
“I fucked up,” Valentino murmurs out as soon as Marc closes the door. “I’m sorry,”   
  
“I get it,” Marc mutters back, folding his arms. “I guess I would have freaked out too-”   
  
“No, Marc,” Valentino stalks forward and Marc has to stop the sudden exhale from leaving his lips as the scent of Valentino hits his nostrils. “I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that - I just - I panicked and I shouldn’t have,”   
  
“Look, it’s fine, I get it, Vale,” He begins only to stop as Valentino’s hands grab at his face, cupping it between his calloused palms. “Wha-”   
  
“I love you too,” Valentino blurts out and Marc stiffens in his hold as the Italian’s fingers slowly caress his cheek, the blue eyes searching his own brown ones for a reaction. “Marc?”   
  
“W-why now?” Marc whispers out, closing his eyes as Valentino’s fingers brush against his skin, igniting every nerve ending. “Why now?”   
  
“I was scared,” Valentino admits softly, his voice full of vulnerability. “You said it to me, and you meant it, I could tell. I never had anyone say it to me and truly mean it - and that terrified me. So I left but I regretted it straight away, I wanted to come back but Uccio said that it was wrong to do that when you were hurting. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it and how much of an idiot I would be if I were to let you go,”   
  
“Say it again,” Marc whispers almost wordlessly. “Say it again,”   
  
“Open your eyes,” Valentino’s voice is almost syrup soft and he complies, opening his eyes to see Valentino’s glassy bright blue eyes staring back at him. “I love you,” He says again, his thumb slowly brushing away a tear that Marc didn’t realise was beginning to fall before he leans in, his eyes searching Marc’s. Marc seals their lips together, his eyes flickering closed once more as he feels Valentino’s warm lips against his own. It feels so right and he can’t help but melt against the older man.    
  
“I missed you,” Valentino whispers against his lips and Marc can’t stop the smile from tugging at his mouth.    
  
Everything feels right again. Marc wins the final two races and claims his second MotoGP world title at the gala, fixing the tile with his name and the years inscribed into it next to the one he had put there last year - Valentino’s name is directly above his own and he can’t stop himself from brushing his fingers against it as he presses a light kiss to the trophy, feeling the thread settle between the two of them.  
  


* * *

  
Qatar isn’t kind to Marc as it usually is, and he has to settle for fifth position after a mistake at turn one sends him to the back of the pack, whilst Valentino wins the race. He’s happy enough for his Italian lover and they end up curled up between the sheets in Valentino’s bed after the race, Marc’s lips pressing against the older man’s chest.    
  
“I should win more races if you do that again,” Valentino drawls out with a wide smile, pulling the Spaniard closer to him.    
  
“That can be arranged,” Marc purrs out, his hand lazily stroking over Valentino’s chest. He glances down at the thread still tied around his finger, seemingly more tangled than usual. He’s not thought about the connection between them for a few weeks - but the tangle of the thread is something that he has never seen before - his and Valentino’s thread tends to lay flat and smoothly between them. He makes a note to corner Jorge, the only person that knows about the threads the next time they’re together.   
  
“You okay?” Valentino cocks his head slightly, his eyes searching Marc’s.    
  
“Yeah,” Marc says softly, trying to ignore the thread and focus on the man above him. Valentino leans in and captures his lips once more, the thought soon forgotten as they roll between the sheets, connected together again.    
  
Marc tries to corner Jorge at the next press conference, but he can’t seem to get near the older man. He and Valentino are seated together at the far end of the table, their faces pressed close together as they talk to one another. Marc pushes away the small stab of jealousy - he knows that he has nothing to worry about - Jorge is very happy with Dani, judging by his teammate’s wide smile whenever he enters his own side of the garage every race weekend. He tries to push his worry to the back of his mind and focus on the race ahead, instead of the thread around his finger.    
  
He secures his first win of the season from pole later that weekend. America has always been one of his happy hunting grounds, and he’s thankful to finally get his championship defence back on track. Marc stands on the top step of the podium, the cheers ringing out in his ears and he should be happy but he isn’t. He can feel the distance between him and Valentino, even when they’re pushed together for the photograph. Marc smiles widely at the flashing cameras below, but he can feel the heat from Valentino’s elbow against his arm and it seems to burn white-hot as though like an accusation. Valentino fucks him later that night, their trophies shining in the dim light from the window of the motorhome and Marc pretends that everything is alright between them.    
  
“That was amazing,” Valentino whispers against his ear as he collapses onto the bed next to Marc, his lips pressing against the sweaty curls. “You’re incredible,”   
  
Marc can’t stop the smile from drifting over his lips. But although Valentino’s body is close, pressed up against his own, he wonders if his heart is the same. The thread between them seems to have tangled up even more, the knots in the thin red cord tight and coiled together. He looks away, trying to pretend that it doesn’t exist as he kisses Valentino back, his heart hammering against his chest.  
  


* * *

  
They clash in Argentina on the track and the press tries everything they can to force the bitter hatred that crackles between two rivals, but Marc ends up in Valentino’s bed that evening, the Italian pressing lazy kisses down his chest before they make love again, Marc calling out Valentino’s name into the night. Thankfully, Jorge takes the heat off them for the next four races extending his lead on the championship whilst Marc can feel his hands slipping away from the trophy after he fails to finish in Mugello or Barcelona. Valentino presses his lips against the bruises caused by hitting the tarmac in Italy, and Marc can’t help but smile. He remembers the boos from the Italian crowds - it’s to be expected, what with the press pushing their rivalry agenda - but he had the last laugh. Their idol is curled up with him in bed, pressing kisses to tanned skin, the wry smile that is reserved for Marc curling on the corner of his lips.   
  
“Promise me that we will never be like Dani and Jorge once were? That we won’t let the press come between us?”    
  
Valentino’s eyes look bright in the moonlight. “We won’t, I promise you,”   
  
Assen threatens to light the touch paper once more as they battle with one another for the win - making contact on the final lap, and Marc feels the tangled thread tug hard against his finger as he grits his teeth to stop the bike bucking underneath him, Valentino managing to hold on in front of him to claim the victory, Valentino’s bright yellow helmet inclining ever so slightly to check that he’s still behind him. He’s slightly disappointed when he pulls into parc ferme, the thread pulling at his finger as he speaks to his team, undoubtedly caused by Valentino’s excitement. The Italian finally makes his way back, his Yamaha coming to a spot next to the #1 plinth. Marc tries not to watch Valentino embrace his team, their cheers ringing through the air but the sound is deafening.    
  
“Ciao,” The familiar voice, muffled slightly by the helmet cuts him out of his conversation. 

Valentino clasps his hand in his own gloved one, his other hand brushing against Marc’s shoulder as he whispers his congratulations. Marc smiles widely at the interaction, knowing that the cameras are lapping every second of them together up. They smile together on the podium, the champagne soaking them both to the bone. Marc knows that the headlines will be full of the last lap drama but he doesn’t care at that moment. Valentino comes to his motorhome later that evening under the cover of night and they fuck against the kitchen counter - it’s hard and frenzied, but it’s everything that they need. Valentino presses gentle kisses to Marc’s neck as they sink into his bed afterward, as feather touches brush against his sweaty skin and it feels right.    
  
Marc wins the next two races in Germany and Indianapolis. He’s missed the feeling of winning. He screams until his throat is hoarse, launching himself at his team with the widest smile on his face. Accepting the congratulations from Jorge, he finds himself gravitating towards Valentino who accepts his handshake with a warm smile, the tangled thread between them coiling into a thin pile of knots by their feet. To anyone else, it looks like two men expressing a show of sportsmanship, but Marc knows what the tiny quirk in the corner of Valentino’s lips means - and he finds out later that night in Valentino’s motorhome when the Italian guides him down between rumpled sheets, all soft, sweet and slow.    
  
“I want you to enjoy this,” Valentino whispers softly, his lips brushing against Marc’s thighs.    
  


* * *

  
Marc knows that eventually, he is going to have to come clean to Valentino about the bond between them, and just after the race in Aragon, he almost does - Valentino finds him tucked up in a corner of one of the abandoned garages away from the prying eyes of the fans and the media, his body still battered from yet another crash.    
  
“I’m sorry about your race,” Valentino murmurs out softly, his hand brushing against Marc’s shoulder.    
  
“It’s not your fault,” Marc mutters back. “I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong-”   
  
“Marc,” Valentino’s voice softens more, his finger catching Marc’s chin to pull it upright, his gaze locking on the blue eyes of the Italian. “You’re not doing anything wrong, okay? Sometimes mistakes happen, sometimes these things do happen, it doesn’t make you any less of an incredible rider,”   
  
Marc feels the tear prick in the corners of his eyes at Valentino’s words, he wants nothing more than to open his mouth and tell him, but he can’t. Valentino’s lips meet his own and the thought is again forgotten.    
  
His fourth place in Japan isn’t enough to keep him in mathematical contention for the title. Valentino just holds him, his strong steady hands curving over Marc’s back as the tears threaten to spill over, he whispers words only meant for him into the night. Australia is no better - although he claims a win, it’s not enough.  
  
Everything goes to shit in Sepang when he and Valentino find themselves fighting for position. It’s everything that Marc had ever dreamed of as a young child, fighting against his hero - but everything is different now, now he is much more to lose than just a race win. They tangle together a few laps in, Valentino’s foot brushing against his bike and Marc feels it buck underneath him, sending him across the tarmac and into the gravel trap. He pulls himself to his feet, pulling himself away from his fallen Honda, the scream of frustration falling from his lips. Anger tugs at every pore in his body and he can barely watch the screens of Valentino riding around when he finally stomps back to the garage, the thread tangling more and more as he sits back in his seat, his engineers exchanging the same glances. He’s thankful to be dismissed early from the debrief a few hours later but he doesn’t want to go back to his motorhome and be faced with pitiful stares from Alex and his father, so he makes his way towards the now-empty track. It’s peaceful without the roar of the engines and Marc manages to find a quiet corner to sit down on the grass, tugging his hoodie closer around his body as he closes his eyes and loses himself for a few moments.    
  
“I thought I’d find you here,” The familiar voice pipes up from behind him. Marc wrenches his eyes open and glances behind him to see Jorge leaning against the barrier with his arms folded. “Maybe I didn’t want to be found,” Marc murmurs back, resting his face against his knees. “Can’t anyone get a little peace and quiet these days?”   
  
“Not today, babychamp,” The nickname stings, and Jorge doesn’t miss the slight flinch. “You okay?”   
  
“Not really, but there’s not much I can do,” Marc mutters back, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “He showed me what he is capable of today,”   
  
“That’s Vale for you, I’ve seen it firsthand,” Jorge sighs heavily. “I wanted to check up on you,”   
  
“How did you find me?”    
  
“I just followed the tangled thread,” Jorge quirks an eyebrow.    
  
Marc’s head whips upright. “You noticed that?”   
  
“Of course I did,” Jorge sighs. “You know that it doesn’t mean anything right? Threads tangle like that all the time, mine and Dani’s was tangled like that for weeks and we got through it okay,”    
  
“But what does it mean?” Marc lifts his fingers slightly to gaze down at the tangled thread. “I’ve never seen it do this before,”   
  
Jorge settles down on the grass next to Marc and the younger man tries not to look at the thread around his finger, smooth, straight, and still against the ground. “You need to stop worrying about it so much,” His voice is quiet. “If you let the thread dictate your life and your relationship with Valentino, you’ll never be happy,”   
  
“But how do I stop myself thinking about it? It’s always there, it’s a constant reminder that we are tied together-”   
  
“You could always tell him?” Jorge says with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure he would understand,”   
  
“Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Marc sneers, picking at a blade of grass. “He kicked me off my bike today, this thing between us doesn’t mean anything to him and it never will,”   
  
“Marc, you’re angry right now and you have every reason to be,” Jorge’s hazel green eyes stare at the thread beginning to move through the grass. “But don’t let that get in the way of anything, I let the rivalry between me and Dani do that for years and I regret it. Vale's a fucking dick on the track, and sometimes off it - but he’s changed. You know before he met you, he would have a different person in his motorhome at the end of every race? He never does that anymore, it’s just you,”   
  
“What-”   
  
Jorge scoffs. “You really didn’t notice? It wasn’t just sex to him, he just won’t tell you that because he’s scared of what it actually means. You two should talk and be more open and honest with each other,”   
  
“Yeah, I guess,” Marc says quietly. “Thanks, Jorge,”   
  
“Just talk to him,” Jorge claps him on the shoulder. Marc turns his gaze back towards the track, trying to ignore the pull of Jorge’s thread, the Majorcan dusting himself off and walking back towards the motorhomes to where Dani is presumably waiting for him. He pulls himself to his feet a few minutes later and makes his way back towards his own motorhome. However, before he can reach his door, he’s tugged away by a warm hand clasping around his wrist and bright blue eyes meet his gaze, Valentino giving him a tentative smile.    
  
“I wanted to see if you were alright,” Valentino’s voice is soft and worried. “I’m so sorry,”   
  
“Yeah,” Marc cuts him off shortly. “I just wanted some time alone,”   
  
“Marc-” Valentino begins, his face dropping at Marc’s curt tone. “Please, I made a mistake,”   
  
“I trusted you,” Marc whispers, closing his eyes. “I trusted that you wouldn’t let the press come between us, that you wouldn’t let us become something else,”   
  
“I know,” Valentino worries his lip and pushes a hand through his hair, the heat making it curl more than usual. The red thread stretches upwards and Marc feels the tug against his own finger. “And I am so sorry, amor. I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted to hurt you, I just -” He pauses. “I wanted the title,”   
  
Marc looks at the Italian carefully - usually, Valentino looks put together, but under the Sepang heat, he looks _destroyed_ \- and he suspects it’s not because of the result. “I wanted the title,” He says again softly. He knows he should be angrier at Valentino, but he understands on some level, he knows what it feels like to have the title slip from between your fingers. Marc glances down at the thread still connecting them together, and the anger fades away. He knows it’s time to tell Valentino the truth. It’s not the time that he imagined, not after everything that has gone on, but it feels right.   
  
“Can we talk?” He asks quietly and Valentino nods slowly, his lip still caught between his teeth.   
  
Marc can feel his heart slamming against his chest as Valentino’s hand curls around his own, tugging him towards his motorhome. He remains silent even after the older man closes the door, collapsing onto the couch. Valentino sits down next to him, his blue eyes searching Marc’s face.    
  
“Marc?”   
  
Marc takes a deep breath, his eyes flickering downwards towards the thread. “Did Jorge ever tell you about the fact that he can see the threads?”   
  
“Yeah, he said that’s how he knew that Dani was his soulmate - Marc, what is this about?”   
  
“I can see them too,” Marc blurts out, trying to ignore his heart slamming against his ribcage. “And my thread leads to you,”   
  
Valentino is silent for a few minutes, and Marc wonders if he’s made a huge mistake until blue eyes meet his brown ones, a small smile curling on the edge of his lips. “I know,”   
  
“What? You can see them too?” Marc’s eyes widen a fraction.    
  
Valentino shakes his head. “No, but I don’t need to see them to know that we’re connected, Marc,”   
  
“And you’re not angry?” Marc asks softly, his lip caught between his teeth.    
  
“Marc,” Valentino murmurs out, his hand finding Marc’s cheek to tip the younger Spaniard’s face towards him. “Why would I be angry? You can’t control this. I wish you had told me sooner, I could tell that something was bothering you for a while but I didn’t want to push-”    
  
“I wanted to tell you, but I was scared that you would push me away and-”   
  
“Marc,” Valentino’s finger continues to trace against his face. “I love you, I’ve never loved anyone the way I loved you. I kept you at a distance because I knew I was falling in love with you and I was scared that you would break my heart-” He pauses to lick his lips. “I treated you so badly and for that, I am so sorry,”   
  
“I love you too,” Marc turns his head slightly, his brown eyes searching out Valentino’s blue ones. “I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was scared that you wouldn’t want me-”   
  
“Marc,” Valentino’s thumb swipes over Marc’s cheek, catching the tear that he didn’t realise was falling. “I always want you, and I want to prove to you that you mean everything to me,”   
  
Marc smiles softly, feeling the knot of the thread against his cheek from Valentino’s finger. He glances down at the knotted thread between them, and he tugs on it ever so slightly, making Valentino fall forward against him, their lips meeting in a chaste warm kiss. They’re not perfect, Marc thinks, as he moves away after a few moments, but they’re connected and they always will be.    
  
_ fin. _   



End file.
